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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997722">A Not So Light Dessert</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zygomatique/pseuds/Zygomatique'>Zygomatique</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Klaus Hargreeves, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, The Umbrella Academy (TV) Season 2 Spoilers, Verbal Humiliation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:13:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,098</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997722</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zygomatique/pseuds/Zygomatique</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the disastrous "dinner" at the Tiki Lounge, it's Klaus, not Five, whom Reginald holds back. And it's not for the scintillating conversation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Reginald Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Not So Light Dessert</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for this kinkmeme prompt - https://umbrellakink.dreamwidth.org/284.html?thread=1271580#cmt1271580   </p><p>-- not the first one I expected I'd fill, to be honest, but here it is! Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve seen about enough,” Reginald Hargreeves declared, rising to his feet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">Klaus was still sprawled on the on the floor, shaking off the effects of Ben’s hostile takeover. He was alert enough to note that not one of his siblings stooped to help him up. Not even Allison, whom he’d tapped for his new Ride Or Die. </span> <span class="s2">Not even Diego, who had flinched away from Klaus’ attempt at comfort like he had the plague. Which he did not. What he <em>did</em> have was a migraine and a wicked case of heartburn — apparently part of the post-possession hangover. </span> <span class="s1">Instead, the hand that clapped him on the shoulder and then full-on lifted him straight upright was his father’s. “You, however, I’d like a word with. In private.”</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s3">A chill: in the past, whenever Hargreeves singled Klaus out, the resulting <em>tête-a-tête </em>ranged from a stint in the mausoleum to a shame-studded lecture about his personal habits. He turned his aching head to meet</span> his father’s beady little bird eyes as the old man easily helped him to his sandaled feet. On jellied legs, bolstered by Reginald’s impossibly spry and sturdy grip, Klaus staggered alongside his father to a smaller room down the hall behind the bar. Ben tagged along, of course, and Klaus shot him a dirty look. “I feel so violated,” he groaned.</p><p class="p3">“Ah,” Reginald clucked, propping Klaus’ droopy frame against the bar. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”</p><p class="p3">“Whoa, whoa, hold the phone—for clarification, I was…talking to my brother.” He laughed aloud at how perverse it sounded. “The dead one.”</p><p class="p3">“An uncommonly comely creature,” Reginald murmured.</p><p class="p3">“Actually Ben’s rather plain,” said Klaus, before registering what should have been obvious—that Reginald was looking at him in a decidedly unfatherly way. “Oh, you mean me? Why thank you.”</p><p class="p3">“Comely and pathetic. A total waste.”</p><p class="p3">“Speaking of a waste, about your <em>suit?</em> God. Talk about a tragedy.” If Klaus just <em>kept on talking</em>, he could avoid processing the fact that his own father was about to have his way with him and there was nothing he could do about it. “Vanny’s a doll, but she can’t control herself—”</p><p class="p3">“Quiet, you inveterate sot!" Hargreeves barked. "If you think I detained you for the conversation, you’re sorely mistaken.” He undid Klaus’s pants, gave his junk a perfunctory pat-down, and flipped him over, belly flush against the bar. Klaus was powerless, barely strong enough to stand much less resist as the man yanked down his underwear and admired his ass. </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Guess informed consent wasn’t a thing in ’63, huh?” Klaus quipped.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Ben piped in, “That’s rich coming from the Love Guru."</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Speak for yourself, body-snatching traitor,” Klaus hissed, only to receive a sharp thwack to his flank from Hargreeves.</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">“Silence! First seizures, now hallucinations. You embarrass yourself.” </span> <span class="s1">He squeezed and parted Klaus’ cheeks, kneading them, spreading them wide. “You’ve probably already been inseminated today, haven’t you? I can smell it. No wonder all the others shun you. You’re nothing but a whore.”</span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Klaus knew what he was, yet somehow still it stung. Because it was his father. His father—who wasn’t yet and technically never was his father—who was about to fuck him. Because of course he was. Of course he was. Of course. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Hargreeves halted, reached for something — <em>butter</em>?— from behind the bar. Klaus felt a greasy finger edge its way around his rim, which flared reflexively at the touch.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fascinating. I’ve never observed such a readily receptive specimen.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well, we all have— <em>ahaa</em>!” Klaus squeaked at the pressure deep against his prostate. “ …superpowers.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> “Not in a male, anyway,” his father continued, as if Klaus hadn't spoken at all. He palmed Klaus’ cock again, which felt <em>so much better</em> than it should have. “And you <em>are</em> a male. Though nothing of interest on that end, I’m afraid.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Reginald’s own cock, which Klaus had never seen, and didn’t especially want to see now, was pressing up against his entrance. “Oh wow, alright…” Klaus breathed as he slid in, stiff and virile as a much younger man. He sunk all the way into Klaus’ ass, squeezing out a low moan, gripping his bony hips like a steering wheel as Klaus clung to the bar. He drew back out, and drove back in, again, again, building up speed. Quick, staccato, mechanical thrusts, no frills, no foreplay, no softness. Fuck fuck fuck fuck <em>fuck. </em></span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It wasn’t the first or the second or even the fifteenth time Klaus had been used like this, neither wanting it nor fighting it, just <em>taking it</em> like the bottom-shelf bottom that he knew he was. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he’d been fucked in a tiki bar with bits of pineapple stuck to his shirt. But it <em>was</em> the first time, at least since that glorious day when he’d learned to shut out the ghosts with a pill or a toke or a few ounces of booze, that his father had treated him as anything other than a waste of space. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Not that he was about to get sentimental or anything.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“This is <em>perfect</em>,” Klaus moaned, laughing and crying equally in earnest as Reginald Hargreeves plowed him like a cornfield. "It's just...so...perfect." Part of him relished the irony of it—finally, finally being the favorite, with the added glee of scandalizing Ben. “Oh yeah, right there, nngh—<em>ow!</em>” Reginald smacked him again. Not too hard, just hard enough to send a little spasm shooting down his dick like a rogue spark. Those slim fingers gripping his hips and would leave little bruises later. Reginald rutted into him, balls smacking his taint. Filling him, pulsing, slick as a dream. <em>God. Klaus. Loved. Cock.</em> Anyone’s, apparently. Or maybe he just loved watching the spectacle of his own moral ruin, because he was, as Ben had said, a narcissist, and for years it had been the only show in town.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Reginald finished quickly, but not before Klaus was fully hard, bobbing and dripping. “Oh god oh god, please, I’m almost there,” he begged, but the glorious pressure against his guts was gone, and only a thick warm ooze remained. “Fuck…”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Klaus hung there, horny and debauched, his father’s spunk seeping out of him as the elder Hargreeves dabbed himself clean with a cocktail napkin. Reginald zipped himself up, and gave Klaus’ ass one last cursory smack. “Get up, you wretched fool. I’ve had enough of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Klaus staggered upright, hot tears stabbing the corners of his eyes as he grinned from ear to ear. “Right. Right. Of course you have.”</span>
</p>
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